It had been a long day already. The horses were well lathered and cantered, almost plodding with weary abandon in the midday heat. The mail wagon the horses were pulling was occupied by the driver Charlie Mudge and a Scottish agricultural advisor.

The Scotsman was bored. He was keen to meet up with the farmers of Streaky Bay to promote the benefits of tillage in the area, after all, that's what he was here for. He leaned back and stretched on the crowded wagon, mopping the sweat from his brow with a dust-stained, silk handkerchief. "We're nearly at Benbarber Corner", yelled Charlie, "We'll be changing horses there".

As the Scotsman cast an eye forwards he happened upon a grouping of pillars which to him looked like haystacks shimmering in the hot afternoon sun.

"That man must harrow", he commented, "look at all the hay he has saved".

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